One Day
by TwistedSky
Summary: Michael realizes Percy never intended to let him kill Kasim and that he might have judged Nikita too harshly. Set post-1x09.


Oneshot inspired by a twitterpeep. I disclaim! Set post-1x09. It's kinda sappy. Sorry.

XXXXXX

"You never learn, Michael." Birkoff just stared at him, almost as if he wanted to comfort him, but knew he couldn't. That even if he did attempt to offer some sort of comfort it wouldn't be well-received.

Michael just stood, stonefaced.

This wasn't fair.

Sure, he knew that life wasn't fair—and knew quite well from his own experience that it especially seemed to enjoy tormenting him—but this was borderline tragic.

He'd said that he couldn't trust Nikita—it had nearly broken his heart to hear himself say the words—but he had thought he could trust Percy. Sure, sometimes he worried about Division and the kinds of choices Percy made, but he usually rationalized them away.

But he couldn't do that anymore.

Percy had been in league with Kasim. He had never intended to let him kill the man who'd killed Michael's family.

His family. His wife and his little girl. He felt the dull ache in his heart intensify.

When he'd said he couldn't trust Nikita, he should have said he didn't trust anyone.

He'd lied, somewhat, when he'd implied that he trusted Percy completely, because he didn't. Birkhoff had just given him intel that had proven exactly why that was. As much as Percy wanted to believe that everyone at Division was loyal to him, there were those who were loyal to Michael, and by extension because Michael's loyalties belonged to Percy, were in turn loyal to him. Birkhoff was one of those people.

It was odd, because if Percy had ever realized how many of Division's recruits were loyal to Michael over himself, he probably would have gotten rid of him long ago—Or, maybe he had noticed, but had believed that he could control Michael, so it didn't matter. He was right though, Michael realized with a pang.

He'd had him, almost completely.

"I need you to do something for me," Michael said finally. "Top secret, tell no one. Can you do that?"

Birkhoff looked at him with understanding. "Obviously. Yeah, I can."

XXXX

"I'm sorry, Michael," Birkhoff told him a few days later.

Michael had been pretending that nothing had changed, that he didn't know that Percy had never intended to let him kill Kasim. It was hard, because sometimes he found himself staring darkly into space, but luckily Percy seemed to believe it was because he hadn't been able to get to Kasim and he'd finally realized that he couldn't trust Nikita.

_Nikita_. He couldn't let himself think about her right now.

"Your hunch was right. He was in on the original order to kill you, but when you survived and your family didn't . . . he decided to take the opportunity to make you his bitch." Michael had confided in Birkhoff because he'd needed him.

And now he knew.

And now all he _could _think about was Nikita.

"Thank you," Michael grunted out before leaving.

XXXX

He couldn't forgive her. The thing he needed—more than anything else—was to kill Kasim. It was something he needed to do.

It consumed him.

His wife and his little girl—his _daughter_—had been killed because of him. He'd joined Division originally for a second chance. For an opportunity to find and kill Kasim, and so that he could one day just . . . move on.

He'd wanted to protect people. Nikita—_why was it always Nikita?_—had pointed out once that he couldn't save the world, no matter how much he might have wanted to.

He'd found himself talking to her one day, in a moment of weakness, because she'd just broken down all of his defenses.

He'd told her everything—from the pain, the hurt, the immediate desire to die. Then the rage, but he hadn't told her about Percy though, or how he'd gotten involved in Division's work. But he'd told her the things that mattered more, he'd told her _why._

As he spoke to her, she merely sat there, putting her hand in his. She'd hugged him after he'd gotten everything out—and he was shocked that he'd told her so much, because he'd never told anyone before—not even Percy, because he'd already known. And he didn't care about the pain so long as he could use it to manipulate Michael.

So Michael had opened up to her. Afterwards he just sat there, letting her hold him.

For a brief moment he'd felt at peace.

It hadn't lasted, of course. But Nikita had managed something he'd never thought possible—he'd felt something besides pain. He'd felt . . . more.

He'd fallen in love with her soon after that—though it was hard to tell exactly when, and he'd never let himself put the description to it.

He couldn't admit to himself, or anyone, that what he felt to her was more than anyone realized. _She was his redemption. _When he protected his recruits, he felt less useless. Nikita had exemplified that.

She'd fallen for Daniel though—who'd reminded her of how it felt to be human. He'd warned her not to get too attached, but she hadn't listened.

He should have listened to his own advice, and not been so attached to Nikita, but she'd gotten _inside _of him. So once she'd reappeared in his life, he hadn't quite been able to kill her. He'd fought, never really believing that either one of them would take the shot—at least not when they knew they'd make it.

When he'd gone to find Kasim and she'd popped up, he hadn't known what to do. She'd wanted to help, and he'd said yes.

A part of him missed her, and a part of him _wanted _to trust that she would do everything in her power to help him. He didn't trust her though, and he'd been right to, because when it came down to it, she wanted him to live more than she wanted Kasim dead.

That had infuriated him, and there was a good reason for that. Because there was a point at which he had to be honest—killing Kasim was more important than living his own life.

There may have even been a part of Michael that believed that as soon as he killed Kasim, there was no going back. At that point, he wouldn't even know how to go forward, or what he would do, how he would feel.

He'd thought he'd figure it out then. Because all that mattered was getting to the point at which he could take the shot.

Now, he had nothing.

Kasim was alive, Percy was only going to make it more difficult to kill him, and Nikita . . . he didn't even know how to begin to explain how much _that _hurt.

When he'd been ready to die to complete his mission, Nikita had said something that had hit him at the core of his being.

This thing, the thing he'd been focused on for years now, had been within his grasp. But her words, for a brief, brief moment had stopped him in his tracks.

_"You think you don't have anything to live for? You do. You have me."_

His heart had dropped. He'd realized in that moment that no matter what happened, he would never be able to move on unless he killed Kasim.

So he'd ignored her, but then she'd ruined everything. She'd saved his life, maybe. But his soul and his heart will still in ruins, and the only person who could fix him had just stopped him from doing what he needed to do.

And now he was alive, but so was Kasim.

He was completely alone.

XXXX

Everything was the same, and Michael was pretending he didn't know the truth. Because if he did, something would have to change. For now he was biding his time. Division was no longer using him, he was using it. He would find Kasim, all in good time.

But for now he was supposed to attempt to apprehend Nikita again, and he didn't know what to do when he came face-to-face with her.

As he made his way through the building he heard a crash. Nikita, probably. He ran through the hall towards the hall where the noise came from and saw Nikita knock out the last of his men.

There was almost a strange sort of pride that seemed to come over him when he realized that no one could take Nikita down. He had trained her so well, it was entirely possible-and he didn't like to admit this-that the student had truly surpassed the master.

A look practically _dripping _with regret and pain passed swiftly over Nikita's face as she looked at him, then she turned around and ran down the hall. He looked for a moment, then ran after her.

She ran straight into a locked door, so she pulled back her leg and kicked it open. "Nikita," Michael called out.

She hesitated for a moment before continuing. Michael ran after her, grabbing open the door and slamming it behind himself. Stairs. Of course she'd choose stairs.

He ran down the stairs, trying to catch up with Nikita—he was really close because of her hesitation coupled with the locked door. He took the stairs a few more at a time and finally just jumped for her, rolling them both down the stairs and into a door.

"Michael," Nikita said softly.

He sighed. "Nikita," and got off of her.

Nikita looked up at him in confusion. "Michael, I—How are you?" She asked it almost as if they were normal people, almost _friends_ who hadn't seen each other in a while.

They were so much more than that. And yet, not even that.

"I'm sorry," he heard himself say.

Nikita finished getting up and tilted her head in confusion, "Why?"

"I get why you stopped me, but I have to tell you . . . I hate you for it."

Nikita's face fell. "I know."

"You wanted to protect me," Michael said softly.

Nikita looked at him sadly, "Michael, I know we're on opposite sides, and I know you need to kill Kasim, but I can't let you go on a suicide mission."

"I know," Michael sighed.

"I can't lose you," Nikita whispered just loud enough that Michael could hear it.

"You already have."

A seemingly _loud_ silence hung between them.

"Why did you apologize?" Nikita asked finally, almost as if the only thing she really wanted to do was prolong their conversation.

That was, actually, what she was doing, but she really did want the answer.

She missed him so much sometimes she thought her heart would take its mending pieces and shatter into a fine powder.

"Because even though I wish you'd respected me enough to let me do what I needed to do, I know I would have done the same for you."

Nikita smiled sadly, "If I can ever help you kill Kasim, I will. But not at the expense of your life, Michael."

"And that's why it doesn't make a difference," Michael said, turning away from her, done with the conversation.

"What do you mean?" Nikita called out after him.

He turned around, "After I use Division to find and kill Kasim, I'm done."

"Why?"

"Because I don't trust Division anymore than I trust you."

Nikita felt her heart splinter. "I wish you could just understand that I did it for you, Michael."

"I do, it just doesn't matter."

Michael sighed and turned, ready to begin his descent down the stairs.

"I meant what I said, Michael."

He turned back, "I know."

"You have me, Michael. Always."

Michael walked back towards her, looking her in the eye. He leaned and kissed her forehead. "Maybe, maybe not."

_'I love you,'_ Nikita thought silently to herself.

He wasn't ready, and might never be ready, to hear those words.

But she meant them all the same.

She enjoyed the brief fluttering of his lips against her skin and sighed. "One day, Michael, we'll have each other. And that'll be enough."

Michael looked into her eyes and smiled sadly, "I hope so." And he walked away.

She watched him leave and felt a tear escape her left eye. She lifted her hand and wiped it away.

One day, things would change.

One day, she would take down Division. One day Michael would kill Kasim.

One day Michael and Nikita would stop being on opposite sides.

One day, they'd admit the truth.

One day they would say the words.

_I love you._

XXXXXX

Thoughts?


End file.
